


The Fiend With the Phone

by DancingFish



Series: My Dear Umbrella [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingFish/pseuds/DancingFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A horrid bitch does something horrid as horrid bitches are want to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fiend With the Phone

A heeled foot stood on the umbrella. It jerked away almost immediately, leaving behind a dusty foot print. A clean and polished hand snatched up the umbrella from the floor and returned it to his former position against the wall. The feet stood perfectly still. Their owner was most likely trying not to vandalize anymore of her employer’s possessions whilst waiting for him.

She would not have to wait too long, as the man she waited for walked in only moments later. Mycroft burst through the door clad in one of his well-fitted suits. He’d picked a red tie that morning. It suited him well, the umbrella thought. The umbrella was happy to see him. It was lonely inside the office with no one but the woman for company. She’d paid him no attention save for the few seconds it took for her to knock him over, step on him, and put him back in his place. The rest of her time waiting for Mycroft was spent with her eyes glued to the phone in her hands. Mycroft’s arrival was a welcome change to the lonely office.

Mycroft, it appeared, did not share his delight in the moment. After taking one look at the smudge on the umbrella’s black fabric and another at the women’s shoes, the expression on his face changed from one of boredom to anger. He quickly replaced his look of anger to something a bit more pleasant. A tight smile took form on Mycroft’s face.

“I no longer require your assistance,” he said politely, making the woman even more confused than she normally was. “Please leave.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Are you sure?” she asked, a mixture of fear of confusion dancing in her otherwise dull, grey eyes.  


“Quite sure. Please leave,” he repeated with less kindness than before.

The woman gave a curt nod and hastily made her way to the door, her head bowed. As soon as she was through, he closed the door behind her. As if he had no time to spare, he rushed to lift the umbrella up in his hands and sit down in the chair behind his desk. From one of the small desk drawers to his right he plucked a small, blue satin cloth and gently rubbed at the horrid woman’s footprint until there was no sign it had ever been. Sensing the question he had but could not vocalize, Mycroft answered; “not to worry, my dear. She won’t be coming here again.”

The umbrella was content with this, as was Mycroft. She was not exactly the most competent of his employees. Sure she was mind-blowingly talented with her phone--she could text an email on a phone faster than anyone he’d ever met--but she was heartbreakingly dimwitted, not to mention her tremendously rude behavior towards the umbrella. Stepping on the umbrella, even by accident, was an inexcusable and unforgivable offense in both the umbrella and Mycroft’s eyes. She did not even possess the decency to wipe her filth from him. No, neither Mycroft nor his umbrella would be sorry to see her go.


End file.
